


Talent

by Shaddyr



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, Spuffy Kinkathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-05
Updated: 2005-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaddyr/pseuds/Shaddyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm surprised I don't see smoke pouring out her ears. I'm very, very good at getting under the Slayer's skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doyle_sb4](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=doyle_sb4).



> The Kink: canon AUs  
> Three other requests: reluctant team-up, snarky UST, during Superstar or in that universe  
> Up to two restrictions: no Riley or B/R bashing, please. No schmoop.  
> Rating preference: any
> 
> Superstar-verse. Written in the First Person. S/B UST

"I don't need your help, Spike!"

She glares at me, and if looks could kill, I'd be soaking in holy water with a stake through my heart. She'd probably twist my head off for good measure.

Bitch.

"Look, Slayer, I don't like it any more'n you do, but Jonathan said-"

The Slayer's snort of contempt tells me exactly what she thinks of "Wonder Jonathan's" orders. Not like I care one wit what the wanker has to say, but it does disturb me to see her be so disrespectful of the man.

I can't disapprove for long though - watching her flounce away in a snit gives me an outstanding view of her ass.

Until she turns around and catches me staring. Casually, I run my fingers down the centre of my chest while I wag my tongue suggestively.

"God!" she huffs, rolling her eyes. "Spike, you're such a pig!"

I give her the 'd-uh!' look that I see the fluffy battle kittens use on each other. "Yeah... I'm *evil*! Being a pig is all part of the package, love."

She pulls out a stake and stalks towards me, the promise of violence in her eye. "You either smarten up and pay attention to the job at hand, or you go poof. Your choice - choose now."

I'm surprised I don't see smoke pouring out her ears. I'm very, very good at getting under the Slayer's skin. God, but she's sexy when she's furious.

I throw my hands up in mock defeat. "Fine, fine," I concede to her wishes. I know she'd never stake me for something so trivial as leering at her, but she's going to get pissy if I don't back off, and then she'll be no fun at all.

After tucking the stake back into her pants - I'll never know how she gets it in there, considering it looks as if her pants are painted on - she leads the way through the gravestones, headed for a decrepit mausoleum near the south edge. This is our ultimate goal for the evening.

"Spike?"

I pause a moment to light a fag. I enjoy the ritual of the act. Tapping the package, pulling the fag free, whipping out the trusty Zippo to flip-snick and then light up. Doesn't hurt at all that Miss High n' Mighty, having realized that I am no longer keeping up like a good dog is now standing, arms crossed, foot tapping, huffing with impatience.

"Spike!"

Yeah, un-life is good.

"Yeah, Betty?"

"Buffy!"

"Yeah, *Buffy*?"

"Hurry the hell up."

She heads off again, clearly expecting me to fall in line. After waiting just long enough to make the point that I'm not her minion to order around, I saunter after her.

"And stop looking at my ass or I'll stake you."

I just snicker and stare harder, as if I can burn a hole right through those jeans and tattoo her arse with my gaze. And that single minded devotion to doing exactly the opposite of what the Slayer told me is why I completely missed the tell-tale sickly sweet odor of the demon that is suddenly right on top of me. I hit the ground hard, several hundred pounds of demon bowling me over. Vicious jaws snap inches from my ear, trying to take a chunk out of me.

I manage to twist around with a grunt and dislodge it. Easily rolling to my feet, I give the beastie the once over. Slayer's already there, ready to jump in, but I wave her back.

"Just one lumpy Gr'Nath demon, Slayer. Doesn't seem likely to give me a lot of problem."

She gives me a look to tell me I'm an idiot, then sits atop a headstone to enjoy the show.

"Try not to get killed," she says airily. "We still have to work to do."

I am just about to make a brilliant comeback, and of course, the Gr'Nath demon chooses that very moment to attack. Wanker. Knocks me arse over teakettle, backwards over a headstone. And while I'm scrambling for my feet, I hear laughter.

Bitch.

No more playing around. I'm here to get my spot of violence. The Gr'Nath, to coin a phrase, is going down. We circle each other, the cloying scent almost dizzying at this proximity. Good thing I don't really need to breath.

I vamp out and attack, moving far too quickly for the lumbering demon to cope with. It gets in a few blows and knocks me flying several more times, but even with its great strength and ferocious bite, it really never had a chance. I manage to get a fairly decent work out, but it's over all too soon. With a mighty twist, I separate head from body, and the demon collapses into gelatinous ooze.

I don't quite manage to leap away fast enough, and the slime splatters my boots and my duster.

"Bloody hell!" I grouse, trying to wipe my boots on the grass to no avail. I'm going to have to give the duster a good wipe down when I get back to the crypt. I wonder if the slime will discolour the leather. Bugger.

She's laughing at me again as she hops off the gravestone. I glare at her through slitted eyes and make a quick calculation. Just one step closer, Buffy, just one... as if hearing my mental plea, she moves toward me. I dip my toe in the slime, being sure to get a good gob of it on my boot before kicking it at her. And what a perfect shot! I should have played footie with skills like that. The splatter pattern starts at her belly and radiates outward. No part of her is untouched. I even managed to get some in her hair.

And she's speechless. I know this will change, but for the moment silence is golden and I am an artist surveying his completed canvas. My eyes are drawn to - no, riveted by - a blob of the slime that hit her just below the collarbone. The heat of her body is causing it to melt, and it's trickling down toward the centre of her chest, towards the hint of cleavage at the V-neck of her tee shirt. I know that ogling the Slayer's chest is not good for my life expectancy, but I just can't seem to look away, and there goes that little bit of slime, right... between... her breasts...

I lick my lips like a starving man and I hear a sudden indrawn breath. My eyes snap up to meet hers, and for a moment I see something other than disdain and contempt. I see heat, feel desire...

And then her face scrunches up into a furious scowl and I make a break for it. I really brassed her off good and proper this time, and if I don't keep out of her reach till she cools down a bit, I really *will* be able to fit in a dustbuster before the night is through.

"SPIKE! YOU are SO DEAD!"

Oh, yeah. That's one pissed off Slayer. I laugh as I sprint away. She won't come after me. She'll probably go complain to Wonder Jonathan about what the mean Vampire did.

Yes, there are a great number of things I do well, but there is no doubt that I'm very, very good at getting under the Slayer's skin. It's a talent, really.

Or in this case getting something all over it. I have a feeling that thinking about exactly *where* all that ooze might have gotten to may occupy the rest of my night.


End file.
